


However long you stay

by Death2Toby



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anxiety, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky is v good and pure, Chef Bucky Barnes, Gay Bucky Barnes, Hook-Up, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Modern Bucky Barnes, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Shrunkyclunks, there are probably more tags but they are tbd, this will definitely not update regularly because of who i am as a person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-05-29 05:51:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15066563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Death2Toby/pseuds/Death2Toby
Summary: In which Steve meets a guy in a bar and is forced to confront some things he has pushed aside for far too long.I could really use a fresh set of eyes on this fic, if you would like to help me toss some ideas around, pls find me ontumblr.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This work would not be possible without the wonderful [SilvverTongue.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silvvertongue/)

Steve glances behind him at the last of the people lingering around the tables. The crowd is diverse to be sure, but at this late hour, it’s clear most of them are making their last-ditch efforts, trying to ensure that they don’t leave unaccompanied. He tries not to watch too intently, or to speculate who might go home with who, but it’s hard not to, and easier than asking himself what on earth he’s doing here.

Turning back to look down into his drink, he lets out a sigh. Steve often has trouble sleeping, but that’s a narrow excuse. He could have gone out for a run. He could have called up Sam or Natasha or probably even Tony if he was truly desperate for human interaction, but he hadn’t. Instead, he sits, surrounded by a crowd, albeit a dispersing one, and feeling very alone.

It seems strange to order pop at a bar, and the bartender’s expression had confirmed as much. But hell, he’d never really liked the taste of beer if he was being honest, and if it couldn’t quiet his mind then why bother? Absentmindedly, he rubs the droplets of condensation off the side of his glass and watches as it wets his fingertips.

“Can I get you anything?" A male voice interrupts, making him look up from his drink. It takes an impressive amount of self-control for Steve to contain an audible holy fuck when he sees the man before him. His eyes, though an icy blue, are warm somehow, friendly, and strands of dark hair fall free from a messy knot to frame his face pleasantly. He has a presence about him like he occupies the whole room, like everything in the world is his for the taking, only he doesn’t want to take anything at all. He’s wearing a navy blue button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, beneath a black apron. It’s clear he has been working in the kitchen which makes it strange that he’s offered to serve Steve at the bar, especially since the bartender has no other customers to help at the moment.

"I, uh," Steve stumbles over his words and wishes he could blame it on alcohol. "I, uhm, no thanks." The man nods but stays where he is. Steve clears his throat and looks back at him. An easy, perhaps slightly tipsy smile compliments the man’s stubbled jaw.

"Have I seen you before?" Steve almost groans. He hates being recognized, and he curses himself again because why in the hell is he out in public if he doesn’t want this?

"You might have,” is all Steve can say.

"Well, if I have, I've forgotten your name," the man replies reaching out his hand. "I'm Bucky."

Steve looks between the man and his hand, unsure if he’s being coy, before hesitantly reaching out and grasping it firmly. "Steve."

"How's your drink?" Bucky asks, nodding at Steve's glass. Steve chuckles and looks down, examining it. It’s almost empty by now. He shrugs and glances back at Bucky.

"It's only a coke," Steve replies, slightly embarrassed. Bucky laughs and the sound is intoxicating to Steve. That in itself is a bit alarming.

"C'mon, who orders a coke at closing?"

"Me, apparently," Steve says, cracking a small smile and wiping his hands off on his pants nervously. There’s a brief silence between them, both men staring at each other for a second, still smiling. Something stirs in Steve’s chest that he hasn't felt in a long time. It’s scary, to say the least, and Steve's heart begins thumping harder and harder.

"So you're a cook here?" As soon as the question leaves his lips Steve cringes at himself, as the answer seems glaringly obvious. 

"Head chef, actually,” Bucky replies, bragging but in a way that’s inexplicably endearing. “The whole menu’s mine.”

"So you can tell me what the hell a ‘duck confit’ is?”

“I mean, I could, but maybe you should just try it next time. I find that describing food tends to take away from the experience.”

Next time? What does that mean? It’s probably just small talk or shameless self-promotion or maybe, maybe whatever has been churning around in Steve’s gut since this conversation had begun isn’t one-sided. His questions are answered, at least the important ones when Bucky speaks again.

"Hey would you, uh, want to get out of here?" Steve is taken aback by the blunt delivery and he wonders if Bucky really does know who he was talking to. Steve hopes not, anyone who would willingly get involved with someone like him was at least a little crazy.

Before his mind can fully process the situation, Steve answers simply. “Okay.”

Trying not to draw attention, Steve leaves a $20 on the bar top and walks out. Bucky had promised to be out shortly, with just a bit of cleanup left to do. Steve waits in the nearby alleyway and the passing minutes give him plenty of time to wonder if he’s about to make a huge mistake. The obvious answer is yes, purely due to the risk involved. Risk of discovery, risk of blackmail, and though Steve liked to believe he was a good judge of character, risk of being outed, shame, embarrassment. He’d been attracted to men as long as he had been to women but had never had the opportunity to pursue anyone but Peggy. And everyone who knew him knew how painfully long it had been since Peggy.

But when Bucky rounds the corner, pushes him back against the brick wall in a manner that’s simultaneously aggressive and careful, and kisses him breathless, every rational thought leaves his brain. He groans slightly and Bucky must have thought it was in protest because he pulls back briefly.

“Don’t worry,” Bucky says, his voice already rough, “we got five minutes before the Uber gets here.” He sounds sure but takes a moment to check Steve’s eyes.

He must have found what he was looking for because he comes back in, crushing his lips against Steve’s hungrily, slotting his knee between Steve’s thighs and against his already embarrassingly hard cock.

The scrape of the stubble against Steve’s skin as Bucky kisses along his jaw and down his neck is sharp and new, a burn that feeds the fire in his gut. The breadth of the other man’s shoulders is damn near his own and Steve allows his hands to glide over them delicately, strangely unsure if it’s okay for him to do so. There’s a nagging voice in the back of his mind saying this is wrong, unnatural, but then Bucky pulls away and grabs his hand as the car pulls up and the sound of his own blood pumping in his ears drowns out everything else.

Once in the car, the pair sits with a sizable gap between them and Steve misses the nearness of Bucky immediately. Perhaps he just misses human touch, affection for affection’s sake, but there’s something about the man beside him, who is currently shaking out his hair and letting it fall around his face, and yeah, it has to be him and it has to be tonight.

“I hope my place is okay,” Bucky says casually, not really asking so much as filling the silence.

“Yeah, yeah that’s fine,” Steve replies, hoping his voice is even. He keeps his head low, hiding from the driver. 

The ride seems to drag on. Steve contemplates the events that had lead him here and convinces himself to reach over, brushing his fingers against Bucky’s thigh experimentally. He’s rewarded with a sly smile, and it makes him braver. He smooths his hand over, searching for and finding the hard length between Bucky’s legs and Bucky shudders at the touch. Steve’s own cock is practically aching for friction and Jesus Christ could this car be moving any slower?

Between his body’s insistent need for release and his mind’s anxiety over his own inexperience, Steve feels like he may literally explode. As the driver finally pulls up to the curb the two of them all but tuck and roll out of the car. Bucky strides ahead to open the door to his building. As he fumbles with his keys Steve finally realizes that Bucky wants this. It seems strange that it took him this long considering it had been Bucky’s suggestion, to begin with. Bucky had been cool and collected but not for long, in fact, he might be near as desperate for this as Steve.

Steve follows Bucky into the elevator, taking a moment to center himself as Bucky presses the button for his floor. As soon as Bucky turns back to face him, Steve steps into his space, cards one hand into the other man’s hair and kisses him, gently at first. He finds himself wanting to explore, to really learn the way that Bucky’s lips feel against his own, maybe to try and discover why it feels so right. But surely it would take more than a few seconds to figure that out, so he moves on, pushing his tongue past Bucky’s lips and palming his cock over his jeans until the elevator ding dares to interrupt them.

After trekking the world’s longest hallway, they reach Bucky’s door. Steve has to stop himself from pressing up against Bucky’s back. It seems too intimate, but it's basically torturing him to watch the way Bucky’s muscles move beneath his shirt and not be allowed to get his hands on them.

When they step inside, Bucky grabs Steve by the wrist again, wasting no time at all as he drags them to the bedroom. He toes out of his boots and begins hastily working at the buttons on his shirt. More than happy to let Bucky take the lead, Steve follows suit, kicking his shoes off and pulling his t-shirt over his head, running his hand through his hair if only to stall for a moment. Steve gazes over Bucky’s form as he strips away his button down, working at his own jeans absentmindedly. If the nature of this was different, Steve would be grazing his fingertips over Bucky’s shoulders and down his arms, over his stomach. He would kiss his way across the other man’s collarbone, stopping to breathe in his scent, memorize it and ground himself in it. But that’s not what this is. Tonight is about two strangers meeting each other’s needs, and that would have to be good enough.

Soon the pair of them are stripped down completely, and Steve feels a flush creeping over his cheeks, as he stands there, vulnerable, waiting for whatever comes next. Bucky watches Steve, seeming to take pleasure in his obvious bashfulness. Steve doesn’t mind, though. Frankly, whatever he can do to entice Bucky, even if it’s being indescribably nervous, he’s happy to do it.

“Sit down,” Bucky says, though it’s more of a question really. He gestures to the bed.

Steve’s stomach is practically doing flips as he comes face to face with the fact that he has no fucking idea what’s about to happen. He wants this, at least in theory, but a part of him wants to hightail it out of here. He takes a steadying breath and does as Bucky asked, sitting down on the bed and looking up to meet Bucky’s gaze.

Easily, Bucky comes and kneels between Steve’s spread legs, kissing him again, slow and sweet. The heat radiating from Steve’s cheeks increases tenfold when Bucky trails a hand down and wraps it around his cock. He can’t hold in the soft moan against Bucky’s mouth and he can feel a smile against his lips. Bucky tightens his grip, strokes upward and Steve melts into the touch, shuddering slightly.

The cocky arch of an eyebrow is the only warning Bucky gives before he bends down further and takes the head of Steve’s cock into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Steve groans, fisting his hands in the sheets.

Bucky eases his mouth over Steve’s length, taking him in until he hits the back of his throat. Briefly, Steve is impressed, but then his ability to form a complete thought fails totally. He lets his head fall back, sweat beading on his forehead if only due to the effort it takes him to make this last, and god he wants it to last. When Bucky takes up a steadier rhythm, Steve can’t help but place his hand solidly on the back of Bucky’s head, and Bucky speeds up in response.

Heat coils low in Steve’s gut, and only then does he realize that Bucky is getting nothing out of this. He blinks his eyes open and glances down to see that Bucky has shamelessly taken himself in hand, and it’s all but over then. “Bucky,” Steve gasps, his voice wrecked. Even he knows that it’s proper etiquette to give a warning, “Bucky, I’m gonna—“ Steve cuts himself off with a strangled cry as Bucky continues his pace through Steve’s orgasm, swallowing him down expertly and Steve genuinely thinks he might blackout.

Steve collapses back on the bed, physically unable to do anything else, his chest heaving as it used to when he was having an asthma attack. Abstractly, he registers Bucky climbing up and lying beside him, but far enough away that they aren’t touching.

“Do you want me to…?” The offer is a consolation really, Steve is reasonably sure that Bucky took care of himself, and he isn’t terribly confident in himself after the expert way in which Bucky had handled him.

“Nah, I’m good,” Bucky replies, short of breath.

“You sure?”

“Hey, I just blew Captain America, it’s hard to follow that up.”

Steve’s eyes shoot open, regret crashing into him like a wrecking ball. How could he have been so stupid? Shame envelops him completely and immediately, and to make matters worse, he can feel tears threatening as his body tries to catch up with what has been a rollercoaster of sensation and emotion.

“Steve?”

Steve says nothing, just shakes his head to himself, willing logic and reason to reappear in his mind.

“Look, I was just kidding, alright?” Bucky sits up, reaching out for Steve’s shoulder.

Steve forces his gaze over to meet Bucky’s.

“Yeah, I knew who you were, alright? But that’s not why we’re here.”

“Why are we here, then,” Steve asks skeptically, sitting up himself.

“Honestly? You looked like a guy who needed to get laid, so I thought I could help you out.”

“That’s very charitable of you.” Steve tries not to sound too annoyed, but fuck he’s confused, and suddenly exhausted.

“Well, I don’t know if you know this, but you pretty much look like a Greek god, so I think tonight was mutually beneficial.”

Steve does smile at that despite himself, a faint blush returning to his cheeks.

“I promise I won’t say anything, okay?”

And sure, Steve has no idea what this guy’s word is worth, but at this point, it’s all he has. There’s no taking back any of this, although Steve isn’t sure he would even if he’d been given the chance. He stands, despite the fact that his legs feel like limp spaghetti noodles, and he begins to get dressed.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yeah, that’s how this works right?” Steve jokes, only a tiny bit serious.

“I mean, do what you want, I gotta get up early for work anyway.”  
Steve gives Bucky a quizzical look, brows knitting together as he pulls his shirt back over his head.

“Sunday Brunch,” Bucky explains, rolling his eyes at the very idea.

Steve wonders how inappropriate it would be to go in for a kiss goodbye and decides against it. Instead, he settles for an awkward “Bye.”

“See ya ‘round,” Bucky replies with the hint of a yawn.

Steve shows himself out and starts down the hall, wishing all the way that he’d stayed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a lot of anxiety

The sound of his phone going off causes Steve to shoot bolt upright in his bed, blankets falling and pooling in his lap, his chest heaving. He grabs the device from his nightstand, swiping to answer without checking the time or the number.

“Steve Rogers,” he says, catching his breath.

Sam’s relieved voice travels easily. “Christ, man, I was really starting to worry.”

“Why?” Steve asks, trying to force his brain awake.

“I’ve called you like 50 times, you didn’t show up for breakfast.”

Steve glances over to his wall clock to read 10:15 a.m. which makes him nearly 2 hours late to his and Sam's weekly breakfast outing. This is especially alarming since he usually wakes at 7 a.m. every morning, like clockwork.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Sam. I... I had a long night,” Steve replies, hoping that doesn't give too much away.

“It’s cool. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m starving. Why don’t we turn breakfast in to brunch for this week?”

“Sounds good. I’ll be there soon.” Steve hangs up the phone and rubs at the sleep and stupid in his eyes, his brows knitted together in frustration. He forces himself out of bed and into the shower. He knows he should skip it, as Sam is waiting on him, but he needs the time to get his head straight.

The amount of emotions swirling inside him is unprecedented. Frankly, the only thing that overshadows the embarrassment is his desire to see Bucky again, and that is a conundrum, to say the least. Maybe it’s the “first-time” thing, or maybe it’s the idea of meeting a new person so organically, someone who doesn't take Steve’s persona too literally, who treats him like a person. Yeah, that’s a nice feeling. And Steve has no idea what to do about it.

Steve turns off the water and towels off, focusing all of his mental energy into getting dressed and out of the house. Sam would surely be a comforting presence, and then Steve would feel more like himself.

Sam is waiting on the stoop of his building when Steve arrives. Steve is thankful almost daily that Sam moved to Brooklyn with him. Of course, Sam had insisted because he was an “Avenger” now and because he didn’t have much holding him in D.C. anyway, but even still.

“Hey, man, glad you could make it,” Sam chides, his tone sarcastic but friendly as Steve helps him up. 

“Sorry. Again,” Steve replies sheepishly. He feels uncomfortable suddenly, like Sam somehow knows, as though he can smell the faintest trace of cologne lingering because perhaps Steve had tried not to rinse it all away. 

“It’s all good. Let’s eat, there’s a new place I’ve been wanting to try.”

Steve moves along while Sam recaps his week, eyes shifting between him and the pavement. Sam could talk for hours even though the two of them spoke all the time, but Steve doesn't mind. He’s a genuine listener and doesn't have much interesting to say anyway. He’d been listening so intently, however, that he hadn’t noticed where they were going until Sam interrupts himself to say “Here it is.”

Steve turns to face the building and his eyes turn to saucers when he realizes its familiarity.

“Okay, so it’s not exactly new, but the brunch menu is,” Sam explains, apparently assuming that Steve needs some kind of reassurance.

Steve can't speak, trying to steel himself. He’s being completely ridiculous, and he knows it, but that does little to quell the lump forming on his throat. He’s an adult, a war veteran, a god damn “superhero.” He can handle this. Probably. Thoughts of being outed to his best friend swirl around in his mind, but he trusts Bucky, for some reason that he can't pinpoint, or maybe because at this point he doesn't have much choice. And besides, Bucky will probably in the kitchen all morning, right?

“Is this cool?” Sam asks, confused.

“Yeah, it’s fine, I mean I’m sure it’s great, probably.”

“Alright, weirdo. Let’s go,” Sam replies skeptically, leading the way inside.

When they walk in, Steve begins to settle. This would be another pleasant meal with his friend just like every other week, and soon this fool-headed infatuation with a man who is essentially a stranger will fade.

Alternatively, the hostess could seat them adjacent to the buffet, where the omelet station, for some absurd reason, is being manned by the head chef, one Bucky... Jesus Christ, Steve doesn't even know his last name.

And just like that, Steve barely has the presence of mind to thank the hostess before she walks away. He sits and places his napkin in his lap, glancing, probably too conspicuously, toward Bucky. Even at this distance, Bucky is charming as he made small talk with customers waiting for their food. He has an infectious smile which practically entrances Steve.

“Ah, yeah, I’ve heard the omelets are delectable,” Sam says fondly, following Steve’s gaze, almost.

“Yeah,” Steve replies, trying to pull his eyes away before he’s made.

“You’re not gonna ask me who I heard it from?”

“What?”

“Usually, when I tell you I heard something about a restaurant, you ask me who I heard it from, then I tell you I read it on a food blog, then you make fun of me for reading food blogs. Man, you’re really not yourself today.”

Steve, shakes his head, recalibrating. He meets Sam’s eyes with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Yeah, you mentioned that,” Sam replies skeptically.

“I’ll be right back,” Steve says, already excusing himself. He makes a beeline to the restroom, keeping his head down. With S.H.I.E.L.D. having been dismantled over a year ago, Steve isn't as much in the public eye and doesn't get recognized as often, but he’s still cautious.

The bathroom is empty, luckily, so Steve gives himself permission to take a few deep breaths. When did it get so hot in here? He wets his hands and slicks them over his face and through his hair before bracing himself and looking in the mirror. The door opens before he can decide whether to give himself an honest-to-god pep talk. Panicking, Steve grabs a fistful of paper towels, far more than any one man needs to dry his hands. He stuffs them into the nearby trash can. 

“Back for that duck confit, huh,” floats Bucky’s voice from behind him, somehow friendly and sultry at the same time.

“I can’t eat duck,” Steve replies tightly, fully aware that Bucky hadn’t really been asking. He turns around to meet Bucky’s eyes and if he weren’t an enhanced being his knees might have given way completely.

Bucky offers a smile that’s dangerously close to being sympathetic and maybe that should make Steve angry, or at least a little defensive, but it doesn't. Bucky places a companionable hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Look, I came in here to tell you to relax, alright?”

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You’re pretty obviously freaked out, I could tell as soon as you walked in. I just had to say, again, I’m not gonna say anything to anybody. If I do, I give you express permission to kick my ass, you know where I live.”

Steve gives a chuckle and feels some of the tension flow away from him. Bucky is being so sweet, and Steve hates that that word had come to mind, but damn if it isn't true. He hates even more how badly he wants to kiss him because that would certainly only make things worse.

However, since Bucky seems to have quite a talent for sensing Steve’s wants and needs, Steve finds himself being kissed rather fervently. Bucky runs his fingers over the short hair at the base of Steve’s neck, pushing his tongue past his lips without resistance. They’re interrupted when someone attempts to open the door.

“You locked it?” Steve asks, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Well, sure. I didn’t know what was gonna happen when I came in here. Thought you might pounce on me, Rogers,” Bucky replies with a theatrical wink as he steps over to wash his hands. They’re silent for a moment, save for Bucky’s yell of “just a minute” when someone tries the door again. As he dries off, Bucky speaks again. “Hey, no pressure or anything, but you should come over later. If you want.”

Steve just gives a smile and a nod. Bucky grins back and walks out, distracting the person who’d been waiting by the door so Steve can slip out behind him.

When Steve returns to his table, his head feels fuzzy, and yet much clearer than it had before. Sam had taken the liberty of making a plate for him, having had more than enough meals together to know what Steve liked to eat, which was pretty much anything.

“Feel better?”

“Yup. Hungry,” Steve replies, shoveling pancake into his mouth.

The rest of their brunch goes on as it always does, Sam talking pretty much constantly when he isn’t chewing, and Steve nodding along and occasionally asking questions. Steve finds himself wishing he could talk about Bucky, who, for whatever reason, had rescinded his post at the omelet station and is nowhere to be seen.

It isn’t long after Sam and Steve part ways for the day that Steve begins to think about what Bucky meant. It seems straightforward, sure. But what does later mean? And, more importantly, is this a terrible idea? Probably. But, God, Steve wants to see him again, perhaps even return the favor Bucky had given him last time...

Steve spends far too much time rifling through his dresser and closet, wondering what he should wear before deciding that it would be strange to change out of the clothes Bucky had seen him in this morning. It isn’t like they’re going on a date or something, and Steve is pretty sure he needn’t worry about impressing Bucky. For all Bucky’s cockiness, there’s something very earnest about him.

And then there’s the glaring issue of Steve’s sexuality. The way he figures, he’d already crossed a line with Bucky that he couldn’t go back on. If one went to Hell for this sort of thing, he’s on his way there already, but there is still this nagging voice, this sickness in his gut. This is wrong. It’s wrong to feel these things for another man. And since he happened to like women too it should be easy to avoid this temptation and yet, here he is.

In an effort to quiet his mind and to kill some time, Steve puts on some music and picks up his sketchbook. As it often does, however, his overthinking brain fails to produce anything worth saving. Every mark he puts on the page seemed wrong, forced almost.

The only image he’s supplied with is of Bucky, the planes of his chest, the line of his broad shoulders, his soft, grey-blue eyes. But, even as private as he keeps his sketchbooks, he doesn’t dare allow himself that indulgence. That would be the admission that he is hopelessly and pathetically attracted to this man he barely knows. Once again, the question of Steve’s own total lack of intimacy springs to his mind as an explanation, but he pushes it away.

All he can do is wait until “later,” whenever that is. Once again, he wishes he had someone to consult who was more versed in this sort of thing. He grabs his phone, scrolling through his contacts but knowing full well he’s on his own for this one.

After he had given up on sketching, Steve set to cleaning and organizing everything in his already meticulous apartment, then tried to read, then checked his list of Netflix shows he’d been informed to “binge-watch,” but of course that was a dead end too. An inability to concentrate, for all Steve’s previous ailments, had never been a problem for him before, and he had no idea what to do about it.

Finally, at about 7, Steve deems it late enough. If he’s going to do this it has to be now. And really, there is no “if” about it. He hadn’t deliberately wasted his entire day to decide against it. Once he’s set up the Uber, thankful to his excellent memory for remembering the address, he heads downstairs to wait on the stoop.

It isn’t long before he’s on his way and the anxiety that had been building in him since this morning threatens to really boil over. Into what, Steve doesn’t know, nor does he want to find out. He nervously rubs his hands over his jeans as his palms start to sweat, trying to curb his instinct to plan out his sentences and predict Bucky’s responses. He doesn’t want to anticipate anything because he honestly doesn’t know what to expect, he tries to just be excited to see Bucky again, but then that feels wrong too.

The car pulls up to the curb and Steve thanks the driver hastily and gets out, stepping up to the intercom. He has to reach back in his mind for a moment to recall the apartment number but hits the button as soon as he remembers before he can fuss over what he should say.

“Hello?” Bucky’s voice comes almost immediately.

“Hey, it’s me. It’s Steve.” God, why. Steve wants to run from his own painful awkwardness.

“Come on up.”

If Steve were guessing he would say Bucky sounded excited. He tries not to read into it as he hurries up the stairs, too antsy to wait for the elevator. He reaches Bucky’s door and knocks.

Bucky greets him with that warm and comforting smile of his and Steve feels lighter. “Hey,” he says, stepping aside to allow Steve through the door.

The apartment is cozy and eclectic. Steve looks around since he hadn’t paid it much mind his last visit. It feels like Bucky.

“Welcome back to Chateau de Barnes,” Bucky says, having noticed Steve’s exploring gaze.

“It’s a nice place,” Steve replies, his eyes pausing on the billowy couch in the small living area.

“Thanks. Have a seat, if you want. Can I get you a beer or something?”

“I’m okay, thanks,” Steve replies, taking the invitation to sit on the couch.

Bucky gives a “suit yourself” half shrug and grabs a bottle from the fridge.

Steve glances over at the TV if only to focus on something other than Bucky. He’s sure he’d been staring.

“I was just catching up on Queer Eye,” Bucky explains.

“Oh?”

“You haven’t seen it?”

“Haven’t heard of it, actually.”

“You gotta check it out, it’s wholesome as fuck.”

Steve chuckles at Bucky’s passionate appeal. “I will,” he says, and he means it.

“But you didn’t come here to watch Queer Eye, right?” Bucky says, turning down the volume. “So why are you here, Steve?”

Bucky has a slyness to his voice, but it’s sort of sardonic like he’s making fun of his own question but still wants to know the answer. _To see you_ is the first response that comes to Steve’s mind but that seems both obvious and much too forthcoming. He knows he’s taking too long to speak but he’s thinking. “I guess, I don’t really know.” And wow, that’s really smooth. Steve gives a self-deprecating laugh before meeting Bucky’s eyes again.

“Well, I’m glad you showed up. Wasn’t sure you would.” Bucky’s smile is as easy as ever and he doesn’t seem at all perturbed by Steve’s utter cluelessness. “You seemed pretty spooked this morning.”

Well, that had to come up eventually. “I didn’t go there on purpose,” Steve says hurriedly, “I mean, not that I didn’t want to see you, or not that I did want to see you, I mean it was nice to see you, I just. Jesus Christ.” Steve runs a hand over his face in frustration, but when he looks up, Bucky seems to be stifling a laugh.

“Jeez, I didn’t invite you over for an interrogation, Rogers. Would you relax?”

Steve tries to recalibrate. “What I’m trying to say is that my friend heard good things about your omelets.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, actually I think the word he used was ‘delectable.’”

“He’s not wrong.”

“Anyway, he brought me there. And yeah, I kind of, maybe, freaked out a little bit.”

“All that fuss and you didn’t even end up trying an omelet,” Bucky jokes.

“What the hell is the head chef doing working an omelet station anyway?” Steve retorts, feeling comforted by what was turning into a familiar banter.

“For your information, I like making omelets.”

Steve laughs again, lightly. He wants to move in closer but stops himself. “Well, I would be happy to try one, not that I’m a connoisseur.”

Bucky’s mouth quirks up on one side for a second, like he wants to say something but, for once, doesn’t. “You can’t eat duck though, right?”

Steve is confused for a moment before he remembers. “Right.”

“Why is that? I mean, aren’t you supposed to be invincible or something?” Bucky asks jokingly, but he sounds a bit unsure about bringing up Steve’s condition, as it were.

Steve wants to tell the truth, really, but it’s so strange to talk about his childhood. It feels wrong, like his memories belong to someone else. His story is practically common knowledge now, part of the history books, and he is so far removed from it. Isolated. He thinks of his mother, then. For most, a mother is a symbol of hope, a sense of belonging on its most base level. Steve feels like he isn’t her son anymore. The memory of her being given a duck to roast on Christmas Eve, and a young Steve eating it until he was literally sick feels private, like many of his memories did, like if he doesn’t say it out loud no one can ever take it from him. “It’s a childhood thing,” Steve finally answers, and leaves it at that.

“Oh,” Bucky responds simply, but there’s a hint of disappointment.

“What about you, why did you invite me over?” Steve asks curiously, figuring it was time to turn the tables.

“Have you _seen_ you?” Bucky replies without hesitation, his brow comically arched. When Steve doesn’t respond, unsure how, Bucky continues. “I invited you over because I wanted to, I don’t know how to put it more simply than that.”

“I’m... flattered?”

“You should be,” Bucky replies all confidence once again. He seems to sense, though, that they need a buffer of sorts, something to take the pressure off. He turns the TV up a bit. “This episode’s gonna be good.”

“How do you know?”

“Because they all are.”

Steve only half pays attention to the television, though the show does seem wholesome indeed and he would like to watch it sometime. He can’t keep out of his head, however, his brain on a loop of _You are so out of your league here._ He’s grateful to have some time to decompress. Occasionally, Bucky remarks on the program, and when there is silence between them it’s companionable.

One question remains, though, bouncing around in his brain. Are they hanging out or hooking up? He had expected the latter, more meaningless sex, which he would not have complained about. It could still happen, he supposes, but he isn’t sure what Bucky wants. Steve is content either way, he’ll take what he can get.

Steve focuses back on the TV, watching a guy he’d learned was called Antoni teach some poor soul how to make a dish which is supposed to be simple. Steve had never been much of a cook, and despite the modern marvel of the internet, hadn’t improved. His brain just isn’t wired that way, he supposes. “Where’d you learn to cook,” he asks Bucky, startling him a bit.

“My mom taught me,” Bucky answers, and then, just as casually, he added, “we don’t really talk anymore, though.”

“Oh,” Steve murmurs, feeling like an idiot even though the question had been perfectly innocent. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky seems indifferent. “It’s okay. Shit happens. I came out at 16 and I’ve been on my own since. And yeah, your son being gay is a pretty fucked up reason to not love him, but I wasn’t gonna let that stop me from doing something that I loved.”

This is arguably the first real conversation they’ve had and Bucky had so freely let Steve in. What’s more, he seems almost liberated from his past and god how Steve envies the feeling. He feels worse now for not really answering Bucky’s question about the duck. He wants to hear all about Bucky’s life, and tell Bucky all about his. Whatever this is between him, that much he knew.

Steve knows what it’s like to do something to spite those who doubted you, to overcome the odds when everything is stacked against you, to do things knowing full well you’ll fail. He knows what it’s like to be alone. He wants to say that but doesn’t know how. He doesn’t want to make this about him. He wants to tell Bucky that he admires him and his honesty, but he doesn’t know how to do that either. And, of course, he wants to kiss him.

“Well,” Steve says softly, “I’m glad that you cook. I’m glad things turned out alright.”

Bucky offers a smile, reassuring although that was probably not his intention. The two of them speak intermittently, watching Queer Eye when they aren’t talking. Bucky has a few more beers and possibly (definitely) cries at one of the episodes and damn if it isn’t the most adorable thing Steve has ever seen. Steve can’t keep the smile from his face, watching Bucky when he doesn’t think he’ll be caught. Then a realization sets in. His skin prickles with goosebumps and his stomach seizes, eyes widening before he can regain his composure.

He can feel himself sinking, falling, deeper. Bucky, in his drunken state, insists that Steve stay the night, and practically begs Steve to sleep beside him in bed, not that he really has to be convinced. He wonders briefly what the hell he’s gotten himself into before sleep drags him under.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> yikes

Steve wakes easily, naturally, and it takes him a few moments to remember where he is. He feels a weight across his stomach and looks down to find an arm carelessly thrown over him, which he traces back to Bucky, snoring softly beside him. The sight causes a warmth to radiate through him despite his overall discomfort from having slept fully clothed. He could happily spend the day there.

Unsure what to do at this point, Steve continues to take in this moment and to recall the night before. Bucky’s hair is a mess, fluffed out in every direction. It makes Steve smile, and he wonders if it might be okay to wrap Bucky in his arms. Somehow, though, there’s a pang of guilt in his gut. Maybe he should have denied Bucky’s less than sober requests. They had done nothing but sleep, and yet Steve feels as though he had taken advantage.

As Steve contemplates this, Bucky begins to stir. “Oh hey,” he says with a yawn, “I’m surprised you’re still here.” He doesn’t sound upset, just confused and sleepy as he rubs his eyes with the heel of his palm before finally revealing their ever-captivating grey-blue.

“You asked me to stay,” Steve reminds him, gently.

Bucky looks away, eyes flitting about as he reaches back into his presumably hazy memory. “Oh my god, I did, didn’t I?” Bucky realizes, theatrically falling back on his pillow looking rather mortified. “Did I _beg_ at one point?”

“I mean, I wouldn’t use the word ‘beg’ exactly,” Steve replies, attempting to reassure without bending the truth too far.

“No, I did. I remember. Fuck, Steve, did I make this weird? I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry,” Bucky says frantically.

“Bucky, it’s okay, really. I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure? God, I feel like an idiot, you know I bought those beers to share.”

“So it’s my fault you had too many?” Steve chuckles.

“You’re damn right.” Bucky pushes himself up on his elbows again, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Although, waking up next to Captain America is certainly not the worst outcome I’ve experienced after a drunken night of poor decisions.”

Steve rolls his eyes comically. “You know, at some point, the Captain America jokes are gonna get old.”

“For you, maybe. I like to relish in my conquests.”

“Well, I don’t think you can call sleeping together while fully clothed a conquest.”

“Is that a challenge or an invitation,” Bucky asks, leaning in close.

This had not been Steve’s intention, and he would swear to that, but he’d always been one to roll with the punches. Seizing his moment of boldness, he places a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck, pulling him in for a kiss heedless of their sleep-stale breath, and then moves back to whisper, “take your pick.”

Bucky grins devilishly before swinging his leg over Steve’s hips, straddling him and kissing him again. Strands of dark hair fall, brushing over Steve’s cheeks as Bucky snakes a hand beneath his shirt. Nervous energy begins to build in Steve once again, unsure if he’s ready for whatever’s coming, but he won’t let that stop him now. He wants this, wants Bucky, any way he can have him.

Fate would not have it this way, however. The two are startled by the blaring ring of Steve’s phone. Briefly, Steve thinks about defenestrating the device which dared to interrupt them. Bucky barely flinches at the noise and is now kissing his way down Steve’s neck and making it very hard to think. “I have to get that,” Steve groans quietly, perhaps hoping that if Bucky doesn’t hear him it isn’t true.

Begrudgingly, Bucky dismounts, allowing Steve the freedom to move.

“Rogers,” Steve greets shortly, trying not to sound as irritated as he is.

“Hey Cap, need you to come in,” Tony replies. He’d pretty much taken over recon and intelligence, using his many resources to monitor for threats. “I’ve got the location of a HYDRA splinter that is still very much alive.”

“I’m on my way,” Steve sighs, hanging up. Bucky is watching him curiously. “I’ve gotta go,” Steve offers in explanation.

“Yeah, yeah. Go save the world or whatever,” Bucky replies, falling back onto his pillows again. “Listen, um, would it be totally inappropriate for me to ask for your number?”

Steve gives a slightly embarrassed smile. “You already have it.”

“Last night,” Bucky realizes, shaking his head at himself. “Okay, that’s enough regret and shame for one morning, get outta here.”

“You got it,” Steve says with a laugh, rolling off the bed. He pockets his phone and checks for his wallet and keys. Satisfied, he turns to leave. “I shouldn’t be gone long, a few days maybe,” he says, hesitantly, since Bucky hadn’t asked. It seems right to let him know.

“Alright, well, I’ll talk to you soon I guess,” Bucky replies with a smile.

Steve gives an ironic half-salute before showing himself out. His anxiety is, for the moment, replaced with a sort of euphoria. He can’t keep the smile off his face. Knowing that Bucky feels something for him which seems to be more than physical is comforting, for now. Certainly, Steve has no idea what all this will amount to, but at that moment, he decides for sure that he wants to find out.

After making his way home, Steve grabs his bag which he always keeps packed and leaves. Tony had sent a car to get him, ignoring, once again, Steve’s assertion that he can drive himself and that he does not want to be a guinea pig for Tony’s attempts at autonomous vehicles. As he rides silently in the back seat, Steve thinks of Bucky. He tries not to wonder if Bucky will miss him while he’s gone. His mind is racing, but soon there will be a mission, maybe the only thing that can keep Steve’s mind off of Bucky.

The ride is long and Steve almost feels as though his energy is spontaneously draining from him as the time drags on. Soon, though, the car arrives at the Avengers facility upstate. If Steve had hoped to sneak in under the radar, he’d have no such luck. He enters the building and is immediately assaulted with a collection of questioning and impatient stares.

“Nice of you to finally join us, Steve,” Natasha says, grinning.

“Am I late...?”

“Yes. And also, JARVIS tells me that the car had to wait nearly half an hour before you showed up. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you did tell me you were on your way when I called, right? I mean, usually, it’s like you’re just sitting by your front door waiting for the next job, so I’m confused,” Tony explains, apparently enjoying his interrogation of Steve very much.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Cap here had to take the walk of shame this morning,” Clint chimes in.

“No, it’s not like that,” Steve tries to explain, but is interrupted by Tony.

“Cab ride of shame then. Same principal. Sam, you saw him yesterday, what was he wearing?”

“Actually,” Sam looks Steve up and down, “The same clothes as he is right now.”

“You have got to be kidding,” Steve sighs, irritated. “Are we here to discuss my personal life?”

“Oh my god, Cap just said he had a personal life,” Tony chides, practically giddy.

Steve feels an angry flush creep up his neck as he takes in the faces around him, some disinterested, some excited, some betrayed. “That’s enough, alright? There’s nothing going on, now can we please focus on the mission?”

“So you can get back to your girlfriend?” Natasha asks sardonically, despite feigning boredom moments before.

Steve heaves an exasperated sigh. No wonder it’s taken him this long to pursue anyone in this century. Knowing there’s nothing he could say to make this stop, Steve gives up talking, pushing past the others and heading toward the conference room for the brief. He takes a seat, staring down at the table while the team takes their seats around him. All of them seem way too amused, and Steve knows that the more he reacts the worse it will get. It’s like grade school.

“Alright, everyone, thank you for coming,” Tony bemuses, as if any of them have a choice. He pulls up some video footage and bullet point information on the display behind him before continuing. “We have what looks like a pretty straightforward job ahead of us, infiltrate and destroy this base which is located in? Fucking Arkansas. It should come as no surprise that the leader of Harrison Arkansas’ KKK chapter is also HYDRA, frankly, I don’t know why it took us this long to jump on this.”

Everyone watches the screen, taking in the faces of the ringleaders, memorizing blueprints of the base which looks laughably insecure.

“Does anyone have any suggestions on how we get i?,” Tony asks, enjoying his new role way too much.

“The front door,” Natasha offers plainly.

“Ah, yes, the Steve Rogers method,” Tony replies, looking back to Steve. “Sound good, Cap? Wouldn’t want you to upset the lady in your life.”

“I said that’s enough!” Steve nearly shouts. He stands up, the ability to form a rational thought leaving his brain for the moment, and heads for the door. “I think you guys can handle this one on your own,” he snaps.

“Good luck getting anywhere, you don’t have a car,” Tony reminds him.

“Son of a bitch,” Steve can’t help but say aloud, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m calling a cab,” he decides. Fuck it, he can afford it. And after seeing the intel on the operation, he’s more than confident in the others to take care of things.

He walks out and sits down on the steps, debating his next move. A taxi can’t pick him up here, he’d have to walk to a less sensitive location. He can’t believe his delightful morning with Bucky had been interrupted for this. He knows, however, that he’;; have to be more careful if he wants this thing to continue, he has to get his head right, has to make sure he doesn’t give anyone a reason to ask questions.

The door opens behind him, and Sam sits down at his side. “You should probably learn at some point not to let Tony push your buttons.”

Steve scoffs. “Don’t expect that to happen anytime soon.”

“Look, obviously something is up. You have been acting so weird. I don’t know why you’re being all secretive, but whatever. Deal with it how you want. But you should probably stick around to make sure we don’t get our asses handed to us.”

“I’m sure you’re all perfectly competent without me, Sam.” Steve looks straight ahead, watching for the cab that isn’t coming. He recalls a conversation with Peggy, one where she’d accused him of being dramatic, and can’t help but smile to himself. “I’m leaving. If any new intel comes in and things get worse, you know where to find me.”

Steve stands, about to start walking, but then one of Tony’s cars comes around and the door opens. Glancing behind him, Steve spots Tony through the glass, arms crossed indignantly over his chest. Maybe this car isn’t a peace offering so much as it’s a giant middle finger, but Steve will take it anyway.

“You better be on time for breakfast next week,” Sam says, going in for a hug.

“You can count on it.”

The day had been a waste. Steve rides back thinking about how he would have liked to spend his time. He considers calling Bucky, but he’d already said he’d be gone a few days and he isn’t about to recount all of this with him. It seems pretty embarrassing, the more he thinks about it, to get so upset over playful ribbing. His friends, Tony especially, had been making a joke of Steve’s love life for years now. There’s more to it now though, or at least that’s what Steve tells himself.

Perhaps he needs a break, a couple days on his own to clear his head. Though he would much rather finish what they’d started this morning...

His phone dings, a noise he’s rarely heard since he very much prefers to converse over the phone than in writing. He checks the screen, a smile scrawling involuntarily over his features when he reads Bucky’s name.

_How goes the world saving?_

Steve is unsure how to answer that. He doesn’t want to lie, and he definitely doesn’t want to tell the truth. Just finished briefing, seems pretty simple, he types back, which is all completely true.

_Good, you’ll be back soon and I can make you an omelet ;)_

In this instance, Steve is thankful that texting allows him time to carefully articulate his response. It’s a double-edged sword, however, as it also lends to his overthinking. He decides to keep it simple. _Sounds like a plan._

_Cool. Text me when you’re free._

_Sure thing._

Steve puts his phone back in his pocket, watching through the car window as the trees pass by.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a panic attack basically

That evening and the following day are nothing short of unbearable. They seem normal on the outside, Steve does little to pass the time but that’s nothing new, it’s just that a normal day becomes torturous when he’s waiting to see Bucky again. And he hates that he lied to him but he didn’t know what else to do at the time. It seems rather self-destructive to admit at this juncture that Bucky is practically all Steve can think about, and that he has no idea what to do about it, and that a small but very real part of him hates himself for it. Yeah, that’s too much information to share with, for lack of a better term, a friend with benefits. Then, to add, that he’d become so overwhelmed by it all that he’d blown up at his teammates and stormed out like a petulant child.

Not for the first time, Steve finds himself wondering what he’s gotten himself into, what had made him say yes, with little hesitation, to Bucky’s first forward invitation. He’s never been one to believe in fate or destiny, but fuck, something had felt right.

As the sun begins to set, Steve sketching the rapidly darkening skyline, his phone buzzes beside him and nearly slides itself off the windowsill.

He snatches it up, unlocking it to read a message from Bucky.

_Okay, I know you’re probably busy saving the universe as we know it or something, but tell me this doesn’t look delicious._

The text is followed by an image of what Steve assumes is the fabled duck confit. It looks good, he must to admit, but if he could smell it his stomach would most certainly begin to churn. Steve stares at the message for a while. He hadn’t planned on talking to Bucky again until the team had completed the mission, figuring it would save him from having to bend any more truths. Still, it seems rude to ignore it. Perhaps Bucky had sent it knowing that Steve was bound to have downtime at some point, so he probably, hopefully, wouldn’t have questions.

Steve types back, listening to the keyboard clicks as he taps the touchscreen. _I’ll stick to the omelet, thanks._ He sends it and hoped that he doesn’t come off rude. He’s heard Tony and Pepper bicker more than once about the use of sarcasm in a text message.

He waits, watching the screen until three dots appear, and shortly thereafter: _Oh fine. Be boring. Never try anything new._

Steve chuckles. He can imagine Bucky’s tone of voice, his feigned boredom, the flippant wave of his hand. Sometimes, the way Bucky talks to Steve makes it seem like they’re old friends. He loves that.

Carefully, Steve crafts his response, typing and then deleting. There’s a lot he could say, and he’s sure he’s overthinking. He’s always been better when kept on his toes, rolling with the punches rather than planning ahead. Should he make a joke about his age? It’s something he would have done with the team but they’re used to it. With Bucky, perhaps it’s be best not to call attention to that sort of thing.

That’s absurd, of course, because Bucky had started the conversation by acknowledging Steve for who he was. Steve finally settles on offering a compromise.

_Maybe we can work up to it._

Bucky’s response arrives in seconds. _Oh my god, fine lol_

Not for the first time, Steve finds himself grinning at the screen almost as though it’s Bucky himself. He clicks his phone off and pockets it, standing to get ready for bed. He wants to tell Bucky goodnight, but that seems problematic for a number of reasons.

Sleep would not come easily, it rarely did, but Steve does drift off eventually. All the while he tries to keep himself from remembering what it had been like to fall asleep next to Bucky.

Steve awakens at his usual crack of dawn and checks his phone, a relatively new part of his morning routine. Bucky had texted him again at about 1 a.m. _I hope you get back soon._

Well fuck, what is he supposed to say to that? Steve decides to let the message go for now, at least until he has some news as to when the team’s mission would be done. There are a lot of implications that come with sending that kind of message at 1 in the morning, and Steve tries not to let himself speculate. He resumes his everyday activities, but can’t keep himself from going over Bucky’s message over and over. All he can think about, as he heads out for his morning jog, is how he can’t fucking wait to see him again.

After his post-run shower, Steve allows himself to check his phone again and finds a missed call from Sam. He returns it immediately, standing in his bedroom with a towel slung around his hips, hair still damp and sending droplets down his neck.

Sam picks up after a couple rings. “Hey, man,” he greets fondly.

“Hey. Back so soon?” Steve asks, though he feels like it’s been weeks.

“Yeah, tied that one up real nice. Bow and everything.”

“Told ya you didn’t need me,” Steve jokes in response.

Sam is silent for just a half second longer than he should be. “That’s not worth getting into right now. What are you up to?”

“Um, not much. Why?”

“Mind if I stop by?” 

Steve hesitates, trying to think of a reason to say no. He’d told himself he needed time and distance, to avoid situations that could lead to questions he wasn’t ready or willing to answer, but then, saying no would be just as, if not more, suspicious. “Sure, I guess,” he concedes.

“Be right over,” Sam replies, before hanging up. 

Steve dresses hastily. He’s sure Sam is just checking in, it’s not out of the ordinary. It would be a quick and pleasant visit. With that in mind, he greets Sam warmly when he arrives, wrapping him in a friendly hug that’s reciprocated with minimal hesitation.

“Come on, I know you didn’t miss me that much,” Sam chides, grinning.

“In all this time I forgot, you know everything,” Steve replies with an eye roll, stepping aside to allow Sam through the door.

“So, everything went smoothly?” Steve asks casually, bringing the two cups of coffee he had prepared over to the living room and taking a seat across from Sam. 

“Well, there were a few hiccups, Tony may have cursed your name a few times, but overall, yeah.”

“I’m sure everyone was fine without me,” Steve replies, trying to maintain his joking tone but feeling a little nervous.

Sam is silent for a moment, and when he speaks again, he sounds serious, almost grave. “You’ll be around for the next one, though.” It’s almost a question.

“Yeah, of course I will. Just needed a break,” Steve says urgently, desperately hoping Sam will believe him and move on to something else. The topic of Steve getting out had come up a few times, though really it had for all of them. But it was idle fantasy, always had been, always would be. Steve becomes lost, then, stuck in a spiderweb of his own thoughts and worries. He feels removed from his body and yet he can register his palms beginning to sweat as he attempts to look Sam in the eye and respond accordingly to his inquiries and explanations.

If it’s true that Steve can never get out of this life, then what would that mean for the poor soul who ended up loving him? Steve knows that situation is definitely not an inevitable one, but whatever is happening with Bucky makes it seem marginally closer to his reach. But is that really fair of him? To pursue someone, a civilian no less, when he had accepted his fate to save the world for as long as it needed saving? This is assuming, however, that whatever this thing was would go somewhere longterm, and that’s quite a leap. Visions of a normal life with someone, with Bucky, flash through his mind and he tells himself it’s because his brain is filling in the blank arbitrarily, that it doesn’t mean anything.

“Steve?” Sam’s voice and the theatrical manner in which he waves his hand in front of Steve’s face break through the fog of Steve’s brain.

“Sorry, sorry,” Steve hears himself say. He inhales deeply in an attempt to settle himself. All he has is what’s in front of him, and he knows he has to take things one day, hour, maybe minute at a time. He looks across at Sam, who appears to be waiting for an explanation. Steve doesn’t offer one.

“Look, man, obviously something’s going on with you and I know you’re not obliged to share anything with me but it’s starting to complicate things,” Sam says matter-of-factly.

“I just need more time, Sam,” Steve pleads.

“Whatever you say, Steve,” Sam replies, finally beginning to sound frustrated. Steve has never heard that tone from Sam, not directed at him, anyway. He feels terrible about straining his friendship with Sam over someone he’s just met, but of course, there’s more to it than that. 

“Sam, I’m sorry,” Steve offers, helplessly. He wants to make promises that he’ll be better, that things will go back to their own brand of normal, but he can’t bring himself to. Not with all these secrets clouding the air between them. 

It’s clear that Sam hadn’t intended for their conversation to go this way judging by his expression and uncomfortable silence. Steve speaks again, the sound of his own voice grating against his ears. “I just have some stuff to figure out.”

“I’ve helped you figure out a lot of stuff.”

“I have to handle this one on my own.”

Sam looks like he wants to press the issue, but he stops himself with a simple “okay.” 

The two of them share a few beats of awkward silence the likes of which had never existed between them. Steve stares at the floor, clearing his throat while Sam literally twiddles his thumbs. Just as Sam opens his mouth to speak, presumably to excuse himself, Steve’s intercom buzzes, causing them both to jump. 

Steve rushes over, panic rising in the three seconds it takes him to press the button and speak. “Hello?” 

“It’s me,” floats Natasha’s unmistakable voice, and Steve can’t contain the relieved sigh that escapes him. He isn’t sure why he thought, however briefly, that Bucky would show up, given that by all logical reasoning he doesn’t know where Steve lives, but anxiety is a hell of a drug. 

“Come on up,” Steve replies, trying to sound pleasant. He unlocks the door and heads back over to the couch, know Natasha will come in without having to be invited a second time. Sam appears perplexed but he still doesn’t speak. Unable to deal with the tension any longer, Steve pulls out his phone. 

“Are you texting?” Natasha calls skeptically before she’s even stepped inside. Steve clicks the lock button on his phone before meeting her questioning gaze.

“Isn’t that what you kids are doing nowadays,” Steve replies sardonically. “And hello, by the way.” 

Natasha takes a seat beside Sam. “I’ll skip asking if you’re back to normal. Missed you on this one, Steve.”

“Why is everyone being so dramatic? Can’t a guy take a few days off work?” Steve almost laughs at himself for implying that the others, not him, were the dramatic ones, but it’s just part of the banter, really. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Finally got tired of you boys excluding me from your dates,” Natasha replies playfully. “So who were you texting?”

Steve hesitates for so brief a moment, only Natasha could have noticed it. “Just a friend.”

“I’m your friend, you never text me,” Sam chimes in.

“That’s not true,” Steve groans. Sam simply raises a brow in response. Steve exhales shakily as he takes in, too late, the deja vu of it all. “You want the truth?”

“Yeah,” they both exclaim in unison, as though it should be obvious.

“Fine. I’ve been... talking. To someone. I don’t know what it is yet. I’d appreciate time to figure it out.”

Sam and Natasha look floored, which is surprising. Steve didn’t think he was offering new information, just confirming what they already know. The pair of them soften then, and Steve smiles in return. 

Shortly thereafter, Steve sees his company off and manages to send a text to Bucky that he’s home. Bucky’s responses arrive almost immediately. 

_Cool, it’s my day off!_

_Come over whenever._

_I mean, if you’re up to it._

_I’m up to it,_ Steve writes back simply. It’s strange, really, because as he’d typed the message he’d been excited, and now, just seconds later, he’s overwhelmed. After the whirlwind of emotion he’s been experiencing lately, a sort of numbness envelopes him, like his brain can’t even try to discern what was happening anymore. It feels safe as much as it’s disconcerting, like he’s in a protective bubble. Maybe he just needs a rest. 

But it seems like Bucky really wants to see him, and Steve feels obliged to go despite the feeling that gravity is going to pull him into the earth. If he stays home, he may never leave his bed again, so he steps out the door and sets a course for Bucky’s apartment, figuring it’s probably better to walk than to pass out in a cab.

The past week had exposed Steve to more emotions than he knew existed and now he feels shut down. Perhaps it’s a good thing, maybe he can be rational now, start with a clean slate, maybe... but right now, God he’s so tired. 

Through autopilot alone, Steve eventually finds himself pressing the intercom for Bucky’s apartment and subsequently heading to the elevator. He feels separated from his body somehow, like his legs are walking down the hall without his say so. 

Just as well, he arrives at Bucky’s apartment and knocks. When Bucky opens the door his excited smile immediately falls into concern and shock. Steve hates it. He shouldn’t have come, should’ve stayed home to deal with this shit on his own. 

“Come in, come in,” Bucky says, ushering Steve through the door like a worried mother whose kid had turned up with a black eye. 

Steve meets his eyes, confused. “I’m okay,” he assures and even he doesn’t believe it. Truthfully, he’s terrified. He has no idea what the hell’s going on. His heart is racing. 

“You look awful,” Bucky replies, not rude, but honest as he’s wont to be, and also empathetic. Steve loves that. “Sit,” he says gently, pulling up a tall chair from his breakfast bar. 

Before Steve realizes he’s followed Bucky’s order, Bucky has left and returned with a glass of water. Steve scans his features once again. It seems like Bucky has been in situations like this before, like he knows exactly what he’s doing. Steve isn’t sure if that makes him feel worse or better. Bucky waits patiently, doesn’t pry. Perhaps he figures it’s classified stuff messing with Steve’s head, stuff he can’t talk about. Steve doesn’t stop himself from chuckling aloud at the irony of the thought. Still, Bucky waits. 

Within a few minutes, Steve can feel himself settling back into his skin. His brain seems to begin functioning again, however, he then begins to realize how shaken he’d let himself appear in front of Bucky and the anxiety starts all over. 

“I’m,” Steve clears his throat, glancing from Bucky’s face back to the floor. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be,” Bucky assures earnestly, placing a firm but companionable hand on Steve’s shoulder. “But you know, Steve, you didn’t have to come over. I mean, I’m glad you’re here but if you’d rather be at home I understand.”

Frankly, home is the last place Steve wants to be. 

It’s ironic, really, that Bucky is the person that Steve has been most honest with. It’s inadvertent, clumsy, but real. Steve has calmed down significantly since his arrival at Bucky’s apartment, but he’s still not thinking very clearly. 

“Feeling better?” Bucky’s easy voice sifts through the clouds of Steve’s consciousness, drawing a tired smile from him.

Steve grabs at the blanket Bucky had brought at some point and draped over his shoulders. “Yeah, I…” Steve shook his head minutely, attempting to send off his embarrassment. “I am, thanks.” There’s another wave of anxiety, his breath is caught in his throat for a moment. “Jesus Christ, what am I doing,” he whispers to himself. 

“What do you mean?” Bucky asks. 

Clearing his throat, Steve looks Bucky in the face again. He allows his eyes to scan across Bucky’s pronounced cheek bones, his full lips, the unruly strands of hair that frame his face and fall over his forehead, then finally meets his eyes. He feels comforted for only a moment before guilt overcomes him again. “I’m sorry, Bucky. This,” he sighs, “this isn’t fair. I shouldn’t have come over, I just. I shouldn't be here. With you. I-- fuck.” 

“Okay, um,” Bucky sort of stutters, backing out of Steve’s space, “Steve, I don’t know what’s going on but, you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to. You never did.” 

Steve forces his lungs to expand in a deep breath, and exhales, resolute. Everything seems so uncertain, so muddled and confusing, so he focuses on what he knows to be true. “Can I tell you something?” 

“Of course.” 

“I do want to be here. I don’t want to leave. I want stay here with you. For a little while, at least.” 

Bucky’s eyes soften, crinkling a little around the edges as he smiles. “I’d like that.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there is more anxiety and more Queer eye, and a smidgen of truth telling

“Do you want to sit down in the living room?” Bucky asks, placing a hand cautiously on Steve’s shoulder. They’ve been sitting in silence for a few minutes, Steve sipping his water and focusing on his “breath” as Bucky had instructed. 

“Oh, yeah, sorry,” Steve replies, snapping back into the moment. 

“No need to apologize, I just thought you might be more comfortable on the couch.” 

It’s been a long time since Steve’s felt taken care of, a long time since he's let himself. He follows Bucky into the increasingly familiar living area and takes a seat on the couch, which is inviting and overstuffed, if a bit outdated. 

Bucky puts Queer Eye on again without saying anything, and Steve smiles as he remembers Bucky telling him that the show and its wholesomeness never fails to calm him down from stress or anxiety. And, Steve realizes, Bucky’s thoughtfulness has a similar effect on him. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve catches Bucky watching him curiously, maybe a bit unsure what to do next. 

“So,” Steve says casually, “do you just have a lot of experience nursing the emotional wrecks of the world?” The question is meant to be self-deprecating, but it feels more like an honest acknowledgment. 

“I have experience being an emotional wreck,” Bucky replies with a chuckle, and Steve bites back an apology, knowing that Bucky wouldn’t want it. “Thankfully, I was born in the era of Google, which is where I get 90 percent of my coping mechanisms.” 

“So that’s the trick, huh? My generation just drowned their sorrows in alcohol.” 

“Seems reasonable,” Bucky jokes. 

“Sure, but not a viable option for me,” Steve replies.

“Because it’s 2018 and alcoholism is frowned upon unless you’re partying 24/7?” 

“That and I, um, can’t get drunk. Super-serum and all that,” Steve replies, a bit self-conscious. 

“Oh,” Bucky answers, drawn out as though he should have known. “Well, I guess you’re stuck with mindfulness and meditation,” he finishes, with just a hint of sarcasm. 

“You’ll have to educate me,” Steve says, scooting toward Bucky and leaning against him.

Bucky obliges, wrapping his arm around Steve’s shoulders and giving a squeeze. “Happy to.”   
The two of them sit that way for a while, and it feels familiar. Steve’s mind wanders back to the last time they sat on this couch together. He recalls Bucky’s face, flushed from the alcohol, smiling like he’d come up with the best idea anyone’s ever heard when he’d asked Steve to stay the night. It had been so peaceful lying in bed with him, despite being fully clothed and on top of the covers. And then, that morning, Bucky, sleep-rumpled and adorably embarrassed. Steve can’t help but linger on the image of Bucky, straddling him, suddenly all confidence, rolling his hips. He hopes they will make it back there, and that this time, they won’t be interrupted. 

“I mean it, you know,” Bucky says, his mouth quirked up on one side like he knows exactly what Steve had been thinking about. 

“Mean what?” Steve asks, mesmerized. 

“I’m happy to help. I know you probably can’t talk about it, whatever’s bothering you, but, I guess, whatever you can say I’ll listen.”

Steve recognizes an opportunity when one slaps him upside the head. This moment is an opportunity to be honest, and if he doesn’t take it now, well, he may as well throw this whole thing out the window. No more hiding. Or, at least, less hiding. 

“It’s not about the mission,” Steve says, and it’s a start. Or maybe a snowball, because suddenly he can’t stop talking. “I actually didn’t even go on the mission. I couldn’t, or, wouldn’t, I don’t know really.” 

“Steve, what are you talking about?” Bucky sounds a bit betrayed, and Steve should have expected that. 

“I didn’t mean to lie to you, Buck, I just. I didn’t know what to do, because the truth is, it’s about you.” 

“What is?”

“All of this. Well, that’s not fair. Really, it’s about me.” Steve scrubs a hand over his face, painfully aware of how incoherent he sounds. 

“Are you going to start making sense anytime soon?” 

They’re facing one another now, as much as they can be while they awkwardly shift toward each other on the couch, their eyes meeting. Bucky is unreadable at this point, like there’s a wall up. Steve decides to start from the beginning, but his stomach knots up at the thought. “The thing is, I’m not, I’m not…”

“You’re not out,” Bucky finishes for him, sounding sure and yet gripped with disbelief.   
Steve’s cheeks flush, but he presses on. “Yeah.” 

“I mean, obviously I knew you weren’t public, but I figured at least your friends knew…” 

“They started asking questions, and I just… I didn’t know how to deal with it, and I sort of. Snapped.”

 

“I mean, I can’t say I haven’t been there. Of course, I was like 15, but…”

“Bucky, the truth is, I thought I could escape this, this feeling. Push it down, and forget about it.”

 

“Deny it.”

 

“Yeah. I figured it would be easy, I had Peggy, and I loved her, and that was real. And I guess I figured that was enough, even after the ice. Then I met you.” 

Bucky’s cheeks color now, and he can’t help but smile. “You can’t keep it a secret forever, you know,” he offers gently.

“I know,” Steve says earnestly, before leaning forward, placing a hand on Bucky’s cheek. “I just want whatever this is to be ours for a little longer.” It’s a partial truth at best, but Steve believes it himself as the words leave his lips. Besides, now isn’t the time to get into his guilt and shame. Bucky is closing the distance between them and suddenly the air is hot and and Steve is lightheaded, eyes fluttering closed when their lips meet softly. 

The kiss lasts only a second, and Bucky’s lips quirk up softly on one side when he pulls away, but there’s hesitation, or maybe skepticism in his eyes. Steve tries to keep his expression neutral, despite the tightening in his throat. The last thing he wants is to cause Bucky any pain or doubt, and he wants to reassure him, but can’t figure out how. One phrase comes to mind, but of course, he can’t say them, those three little words that can’t possibly true, but maybe someday they will be, and that feeling is real, visceral. 

“Please?” Steve asks simply trying not to sound like he’s pleading. 

Bucky just nods and smiles weakly, and Steve knows he’s asked too much of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry this chapter is so short it's bc idk wtf i'm doing


End file.
